The Last War
by Lady of Pale Emerald Fires
Summary: Harry and Hermione soon find themselves wondering what they ever saw in the Weasleys. But will they finally recognize their love for one another? And what devastating consequences will happen when they do? H/Hr Don't like it? DON'T READ IT.
1. Prelude

Hermione sighed and checked the kettle one more time. He was late again. Now she would have to find a way to keep the stew warm while preserving the tenderness of the meat bits.

_Why did I marry him? _She thought to herself, pushing few stray strands of hair from her face. Was it because she felt sorry for him, that apparently no other girl would want him? Or was it because she felt this was the closest she could ever get to the only man she'd ever loved – Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived?

Ever since she had embraced him in the Potions room during the quest for the Sorcerer's Stone, she knew her heart would belong to no other. Krum, McLaggen, even Ron, in a sense – they had all been childish attempts at catching his attention, ways to incite jealousy within his heart. Late at night, while Ron snored and snorted away on his side of the bed, she would warm her heart with treasured memories of Harry – the way he had looked at her as if seeing a goddess on Earth when she had descended the steps to the Yule Ball, the way he'd gently held her steady as they rode Buckbeak to help Sirius gain his freedom.

She would then cry and curse herself bitterly for not telling him of her love during those precious months when they were alone together seeking the Horcruxes, when night after night they had sought comfort in the other's embraces, and slept in each others' arms. She had finally garnered the courage to speak of her love, to finally find words that could describe the love towards him that poured out of every inch of her being like golden water – only for that filthy coward to return for God-Knows-What reason. She still would smile with satisfaction when she thought of the beating she had brought down on him, the rain of blows for ruining the delicate, perfect balance between Harry and her, and wished she could deliver the same beating on him now. But she knew, of course, that whatever abuse she hurled on him, he would in turn hurl tenfold on the children.

She checked the kettle again, and sampled a touch of the meat. Still fairly tender.

"Mum?"

She turned. Little Rose, just eight years old, stood in the kitchen doorway. Hermione realized with increased frustration that she was still in her playclothes, and that her face was still dirty from playing outside. Ron wouldn't like that.

"When is Daddy coming home?"

"I'm not sure dear."

"Oh." Her voice was small, unenthusiastic about the prospect of his return.

There was a brief pause, then Hermione said, "Now, Rosie dear, go back upstairs and get dressed properly for dinner. You know Daddy likes you nice and clean."

Rose sighed, clearly unhappy at the prospect of having to do anything for her father, and went back upstairs. Hermione turned back to the stew.

She tasted the sauce this time to make sure it was still warm, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The kitchen of their cramped London apartment always seemed to overheat every time she put something on the stove for longer than ten minutes. She had pushed Ron – gently, as always – for a newer, bigger apartment, but Ron simply roared at her, calling her a stuck-up pig with her fancy airs while he slaved day and night at the Auror office, and that by God, she would be satisfied with what she had. She had bit her tongue and said no more that day, but she knew that with an Auror's salary they could afford an apartment ten times bigger, if Ron didn't drink and whore it away.

The whores. Oh yes, she knew about the whores, and every night when he came to bed, grinning his wolfish grin, she would lie back and pray that he had not brought back whatever foul disease lay between those women's legs. So far the secret tests she had done on herself showed she was clean, but there was always that one chance…

The drinking as well was something she had hoped to pray away as well. Each night as he sat at the head of the table (for he would sit nowhere else), he had to have his tot of gin beside him. It was always empty long before the meal had finished, which given the speed at which Ron shoveled food into his mouth said something. But that was just the beginning. There were always the three or four beers while he sat in his underwear listening to the latest commentary on the Chudley Cannons over the radio, and of course the nightcap to prepare him for his nightly enjoyment. Hermione had often considered sneaking a nightcap herself, to dull the inevitable pain of their intimacy, but Ron kept a jealous watch over his bottles and could tell if so much as a mouthful had been removed. Furthermore, the sight of Ron, slumped over in his easy chair in a drunken stupor, was enough to make the thought of touching alcohol loathsome to her.

After checking the stew one more time, she turned from the stove to set the table. She remembered how, in the days when she was young and still could use Muggle technology (Ron had forbidden her to use so much as a telephone; she could hardly hazard a guess as to why, but lately few of his commands made any sense), she found a list online purporting to be from a Home Economics textbook from 1950's America. It described in loving detail everything a woman must do to prepare for her husband's arrival at home – set the table and make sure the entire house was clean, dress herself and her children up neat as pins to create an aura of overall neatness and cheer, avoid discussing troubles at home so as not to disturb his mind. When she had first read it she had laughed out loud, convinced it was a hoax because no woman, no matter how weak-willed she was, could be that much of a doormat. Now of course she understood why – understood how a husband could use more than blows to manipulate his wife into compliance.

When she had first threatened to leave him, Ron begged her to stay, proclaiming he would die without her (now that she thought about it, he probably would have died without her – he was so incompetent at cooking and cleaning that he would no doubt have starved to death in that apartment, or have been buried alive under mountains of filth). She cursed her tenderness for believing him and staying, hoping that this signaled him turning over a new leaf. But only a week had passed before he punched her in the gut for failing to entirely get the stain out of some rug, even though he knew at the time she was pregnant with Hugo. Rose had watched from the hallway, eyes wide with terror, and Hermione could do nothing but weep salty, bitter tears for not protecting her daughter from the horrors of her father. When Hugo was six months old she was finally ready to leave him again – only for him to point out, slyly, that wizarding laws granted custody of the children to the father in divorces initiated by witches, since any witch who wanted to leave her husband was clearly incapable of being a good mother. At first she couldn't – wouldn't – believe him, but the next day he had most kindly brought her a wizard law book, and helpfully pointed out the court case which set the precedent, and the law which encoded the foul idea.

That was only the beginning of the new torments he had in store for her. Before the children, Ron had just contented himself with heaping abuse on Hermione – hurling blow after blow on her face and body, twisting her arms behind her until they threatened to break, and carrying her, limp and weeping, to the bed to show her who "the man of the house was." But the birth of the children had reawakened her Gryffindor bravery – she would not let her children (for indeed they were her children, body and soul, with no scrap of attachment to the evil she found herself bonded too). When Ron realized she would no longer bow to his demands, he instead threatened to turn his abuse on the children. She scoffed at him, thinking he would never dare hurt his own flesh and blood. But the day she had come home from grocery shopping to find Ron in his chair with a beer in hand and a smile on his face, while Rose lay on the carpet softly sobbing, nursing a black eye, was the day she realized that there was no low he wouldn't stoop to control her, no yank too powerful on the invisible chain around her neck.

She gave a quick sweep around the apartment – toys and games were put away (Ron almost never played with the children, instead leaving them entirely to Hermione's care. Isolated from his habits, she had been able to raise Rose and Hugo into veritable angels – indeed they were the only bright spots in her life), not a speck of dust anywhere – all was quite well. She turned off the radio tuned to her favorite classical music station in anticipation of Ron, who never could appreciate the subtle variations inherent in the form – he merely declared it all boring trash that put him to sleep.

Hermione chewed her lip in frustration as she thought of the countless performances and concerts she had missed because Ron refused to go – or was too cheap to find a baby sitter. She had even told him once, when Yo-Yo Ma had come to give a performance of Bach's _Six Suites for Unaccompanied Cello_, that he didn't have to come, he could just let her go by herself and stay with the kids at home. He replied with a roar, as he slammed her against the living room wall, that this was his home and by God if he didn't want her to go to a concert she wouldn't be going to one. As she looked in his eyes, trembling at his rage, she realized the true meaning behind his words – this wasn't about her liking classical music or him disliking it. This was about his power over her – his power to tell her what she could do, where she could go.

Something began to whistle in the kitchen, and her blood ran cold. She dashed back in to find the stew about ready to boil over. With a flick of her wand she turned the stove off and levitated the bubbling stew to the sink, hoping that she could still save some of it before –

The door slammed in the hallway. Her husband was home.


	2. Slain

(A/N: WOW I did NOT expect this would be so liked! O_O Thanks for all the reviews and PLZ PIMP THIS OUT I'M AN ATTENTION HORE LIKE THAT LOL

Also, I am very naughty and need a spanking because I forgot to thank my very lovely beta Raquelle for catching all of my mistakes in this chapter and the last :D)

Chapter 2

Ron's bellow reached her far before he did.

"Dinner better be ready, because I had an absolutely foul day."

_You always have an absolutely foul day,_ Hermione though bitterly to herself. _It's just your excuse for getting another drink._

With a quick flick of her wrist she removed the pot from the sink, dried it and set it on the table. Silverware, plates and glasses quickly flew out of their shelves and placed themselves neatly on the table. If there was one thing she could still be proud of in her sorry life, it was that she set an excellent table.

She untied her apron and went to the hallway to greet Ron. "I'm sorry to hear that. I made stew."

Even though his lips barely brushed her cheek, Hermione could still smell the alcohol on his breath. "That's nice. Is the gin ready?"

The gin. With a cold pang of horror she realized she forgot to set out the gin.

"I'll get it ready right away!" She said, her attempt at a cheerful voice ringing with nervousness, and tried to beat a retreat to the kitchen to get it out.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back. "You mean it _isn't_?" his voice dangerously low.

"N-no! It just slipped my mind, it's nothing serious –"

The slap fell hard and sharp, stinging her cheek. "I've got enough shit to deal with at the office without having to come home to an airhead wife. That's just a warning to remind you for next time. And there _better_ not be a next time."

"Y-yes."

"Yes, _what_?"

"Yes…dear."

He let her go. "Better. Now let's see if you didn't forget dinner along with the gin." He continued to the kitchen, yelling "Children! Come and greet your father!"

Rose came slowly, reluctantly from the bedroom she shared with Hugo. She was dressed in a neat little skirt and blouse, her hair tied up in a bow. Ron looked at her approvingly.

"Nice to see your mother can do something properly after all." His brow darkened. "But where's your brother?"

Rose's eyes widened. "He – he was getting dressed when I left, Daddy."

Ron stepped closer to her, and she shrank back as he looked down from his enormous height. "And why isn't he dressed now?"

Rose's voice quavered. "I-I don't know, D-Daddy."

Ron grabbed her limp wrist and began to drag her back to the room. "Well, then let's go together and find out why your brother can't be on time for his own father –"

But his questions were answered when Hugo came running out, shirt hastily tucked in and wiping his hands dry on the seat of his pants. He stopped when he reached Ron, who now towered over him.

"Would you care to inform me why my own son would be late to greet his father?"

"I…I was taking care of a birdie, Daddy."

"A birdie?"

"Yes, it hit the bedroom window this morning after you left and fell in the windowbox but I could tell it was still breathing, so I brought it in and made it a little nest out of a shoebox and socks, and I know you don't like pets Daddy but please can't we keep him, he won't be a bother I promise –"

But Ron was already ignoring him, striding into the other room and slamming the door behind him. Hugo tried to run to the door, but Hermione grabbed him and held him close – whatever Ron did to the bird, it would be far better than what he would do to Hugo if he tried to interfere.

For a brief moment there was the sound of Ron shuffling through drawers and closets, followed by a brief pause.

Then a soft _snap_, like the breaking of a twig.

The door opened, and Ron strode out, a look of utter disgust on his face. He dropped the bird before Hugo, its broken neck causing the head to lie at a grotesque angle from the body.

Hermione chewed her lip, trying to fight back the tears of rage. It was a beautiful bird, its crested head a soft brown that gently faded into grey along the body, ending in a black tail tipped with yellow. It had matching black, white, and russet marks around its eyes and on the tips of its wings, the latter of which had spots of red and yellow so bright they almost looked like mistakes.

A small teardrop splashed on the carpet, falling from Hugo's eye. Rose had started crying long before, and now stood behind her mother, letting out as quiet sobs as she could manage.

Ron's face remained unchanged. "Pick that up and throw it in the fireplace immediately, then go wash your hands. And let that be a lesson to you before you think about bringing another filthy animal in this place." He looked around. "Because God knows it's filthy enough."

_You coward,_ Hermione thought to herself. _You foul, loathsome little cockroach, you kill the _one thing_ in the house that could make that boy happy and now you stand there like you're the Goddamn reincarnation of Merlin_…She thought back to a happier memory involving Ron and birds, and fought the urge to smile.

Hugo picked up the bird, tears streaming silently down his face as he struggled not to make a sound lest his father accuse him of "blubbering," and gently placed it in the fireplace.

Ron drew his wand. "_Incendio._"

Scarlet and orange flame suddenly sheathed the bird, and as she watched it burn away to a blackened skeleton Hermione imagined for one wild moment that it was actually a phoenix who would rise from the ashes, singing its beautiful song to drive Ron away into an unspeakable darkness and carrying her and the children away on its golden-red wings to some beautiful paradise, the way Harry had described Fawkes carrying away Dumbledore…

But at the thought of Harry, her throat closed up like a vise and she could barely breathe.

The fire had finally died down, leaving only charred lumps. Ron's face was now twisted into a smile that managed to be even more hideous than his disgust.

"Well done. Now go wash you hands we're going to have supper."

Dinner started off extremely quiet; the only noise heard was the loud sound of Ron as he chewed huge chunks of food and took gulp after gulp of the gin sitting next to him. The rest of the family sat silently, miserably staring at their plates, unable to touch their stews. To Hermione, the brown and grey stew sitting in front of her looked like vomit – appropriate enough, since she wanted more than anything to throw up, sick with the guilt that was wracking her body.

This was all her fault. She should have left him and taken the children when she had the chance. She should have gone somewhere – so what if she had nowhere to go and no money of her own, she was young, she still had the famous Granger smarts that had won her so many accolades at Hogwarts and had helped to defeat the Dark Lord. She could make it.

"What's the matter? Death in the family?" Ron chuckled at his joke, unaware of its stupidity. "I must say, Hermione, you managed to make food halfway right for once, though of course it can't compare to Mum's –"

"If you like you mother's food so much, why didn't you just stay with her?"

Ron stopped chewing. "What?"

"I said, if you liked your mother's food so much, why didn't you just stay with her?"

Hermione's rage had grown so livid that she barely felt the blow on her jaw; she continued to sit there, casting her smoldering glare at Ron who seemed utterly baffled at why she didn't yield this time.

"I don't know what you saw in me," she continued, unrelenting. "You never seem to think anything I do is good enough –"

"You're right," He said, rising out of her chair, apparently hoping to intimidate her with his height. "I don't know what I saw in you, you lazy, filthy, _slut_ –"

"Don't you _dare__!_" Hermione shouted, as she and her voice rose to meet him, "You have the _audacity_ to call me lazy when I struggle _night and day_ to keep this apartment clean, all in spite of _your_ filth –"

Ron, reduced to sputtering incoherent rage, backed away, raising his arm in preparation for a haymaker, but Hermione was undeterred.

"And don't you _dare_ call me a slut, don't pretend I don't know about you visiting those 'love hotels' or whatever they call whorehouses these days, I bit my tongue before but now I won't, _I __won't_ –"

Ron's fist swung, hitting her in the jaw and knocking her back on the kitchen floor. She scrambled to get up, sitting on her elbows and hatred bubbling inside her as she continued to scream.

"I don't know _why_ I let you do this to me, but you won't do it any more, I'll take the kids and go far, far away from you, Wizard law be damned –"

Ron now walked forward, a horrible look of anger and disgust across his face – only to be knocked back as if by a punch in the gut.

Ordinarily, Hermione would have wondered how she was able to display such wandless magic. But now, she didn't care how it managed to manifest: all that mattered was that she could use it to get back everything he had ever done to her.

Magical blow after magical blow fell on Ron, twisting and turning him like he was some grotesque rag doll. He buffeted back and forth as invisible punches, kicks and jabs attacked his arms, his legs, and his torso. He howled in pain and fell over as one attack blew out his knees causing him to collapse.

Hermione was on her feet by this time, walking over to Ron. She watched in mute hatred as his face was reduced to a bloody pulp by the physical manifestation of her rage. Now it was time for the final blow.

Ron's mouth, swollen from the beating and filled with blood and teeth, began to emit sounds she supposed were words asking for mercy. Truth be told, his current moaning wasn't that much different from his speech in the past. She ignored him and turned her attention to the torso, imagining a mighty hand surrounding it and squeezing it like Ron had no doubt squeezed the bird…

No. Initially she had planned to squeeze him to death, breaking the ribs to pierce the lungs, letting him drown in his own blood. But now she had a better idea.

Maintaining her iron grip on the torso, Hermione brought Ron to a sitting position. Slowly, gently, she began to turn his head.

Tears, snot, blood and saliva made a runny mess down Ron's face as he sniveled, still trying to moan meaningless apologies. He eventually trailed off, unable to think of anything more, and there was a brief silence.

Then a loud _snap_, like the breaking of a branch.

Ron fell backward; his head twisted in a grotesque position. His body let out a few twitches as the last few synapses fired signals to dead muscle. Finally, he was still.

Hermione let out a gasp and nearly fell over herself. She had not realized how exhausted the process had made her. Then with a guilty start, she remembered her children.

She turned to them, as they huddled in a corner of the room, eyes wide. They had witnessed the whole thing, but it was too late to do anything about it now. If it troubled them too much she could Obliviate the memory from them later.

"Rosie, Hugo?"

"Yes, Mummy?"

"Get some clothes ready, we're going on a little trip."

Rose and Hugo dashed off to their room, while Hermione turned to the body. Disposal was far easier than she expected; a simple transfiguration into a piece of wood, placing it in the fireplace and lighting it on fire (appropriately enough), then an _Evanseco _to clear away the blood. She went into her own room and collected several clothes, shoes and toiletries into a bag, surprised by her own calm. Finally, she went into the children's room.

She had raised Rose and Hugo well, for they already had a suitcase back for the both of them, and looked up at her with shining eyes.

"Are we leaving now, Mommy?" Hugo asked.

"Yes." She replied

"Forever?"

She had to choke back a sob as she realized the full impact of what she had done.

"Yes." She said, getting down and embracing both of her children. "Forever."

She was unable to move for several minutes as she sat there hugging her children, who in their infant wisdom realized it was best to stand there and remain quiet. Finally, she pulled herself together.

"Let's go."

Quietly, to avoid disturbing the neighbors, Hermione lead the children through the apartment, down the hall and stairs, and out into the street.


	3. Usurper

(A/N: Thanks for the positivity you guys! But I NEED REVIEWS DAMMIT! No reviews make me a sad panda 8o(

Also, thank you Raquelle you fabulous beta you!)

Stout, portly Ginny Weasley looked down the stairs of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, a hairbrush in one hand and a stick of lipstick in the other. Clad in the yellow designer evening dress she insisted that Harry buy for her the last time they had visited Madame Malkin's, she called out to her husband.

"Harry? Is that you? Come here at once and help me tie this thing up! We're already late as it is!"

Harry, who had only just entered from a long day of counteracting curses and chasing down a particularly nasty Neo-Death Eater, sighed and went up. Better to get it over with than having to deal with it any longer.

Ginny was already waiting for him in her bedroom (for she had always insisted on separate bedrooms), topless as the halter top of her dress hung at her waist.

"What _took_ you so long?" she whined. "I can understand arriving fashionably late but this is simply the _limit_!" She turned. "Now, be a dear and tie this up, would you? Mary is already getting the children dressed. I still don't see _why_ you had to dismiss that house-elf of yours. Kreacher would have been dead useful in dealing with the children."

Harry finally took his chance to speak in this rare moment of silence from Ginny. "I don't understand why we have to go to this party. I thought you hated the Malfoys."

"Of course I do! But they are the most fashionable and well-to-do family in the Wizarding World, and it would be simply uncouth _not_ to go. Besides," she added with a wicked grin, "Malfoy's son is only a few years older than Lily, and I think they get along _perfectly…_"

Harry gritted his teeth. It was now or never. "Ginny, I want a divorce."

Ginny stopped her chatter about what Lily and Scorpius' future children would look like. She stood there, her mouth open stupidly, as if unable to comprehend what had just happened. Finally, she spoke.

"_Excuse me_?"

Harry said again, this time with a little more assurance. "Ginny, I want a divorce."

Ginny turned to him. By now, he had finished tying up the dress, and he couldn't see much of a difference from when the top was down. The halter consisted of solely of two narrow straps just wide enough to cover her nipples, while the skirt had two slits on either side leading up to the thighs. Everything else – her back, her midriff, her legs, and all around her breasts – was totally visible. And quite frankly, he wished it wasn't. Ever since Lily was born, Ginny had let herself go. Every time Harry tried to broach the subject, she would loudly proclaim that her eating habits were just fine, thank you, that Harry was being unfair and sexist in trying to make her lose weight, and did he really expect her to keep her Quidditch-toned figure after three children? So Harry had sat and watched silently as Ginny poured pancakes with bacon, steak and pork smothered in rich sauces, and a whole litany of desserts down her throat, and watched as it all went to her hips, her butt, her thighs, and her stomach – but never, he thought bitterly, to her breasts.

Now, the results finally showed. Ginny, in her yellow dress, was attempting to come of as a sex goddess, a red-haired bombshell, a smoldering sexpot right out of the dirty magazines his roommates had kept hidden back at Hogwarts. Instead, she came off as too much sausage stuffed into too little casing.

"_Why_?" Her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched up in what was apparently a threatening look, but simply came off as her smelling something nasty.

Now that Harry had started, he realized he needed to finish. "I don't love you anymore. There's no point in staying married. We're, we're just like two roommates who don't get along very well."

"_Roommates__!_" Ginny shrieked, her hand flung out in a claw-like shape. For a moment Harry thought Ginny was going to hit him. But then, she apparently thought better of it, and dropped her hand. She walked towards him slowly, her voice now a low, seductive purr.

"I know what this is. This is just you taking that last little spat we had a little too far. Well, I have something that will _definitely_ make you forget it, and you can have as _much_ of it as you want…" She was now practically on top of him, pushing him towards the bed as she fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

Harry pushed her back. "That won't work Ginny. It might have worked when I was young and pent-up and full of hormones, but I know better now. I want a divorce."

Ginny backed up, her mind now switching to a different tactic. "Who is it? Who's the filthy slut that's put you up to this?"

Harry laughed, thinking it was awfully rich for Ginny to be calling _anyone_ a "filthy slut."

"There isn't anyone else, Ginny. Just me telling you I want a divorce. Is that really so hard to believe?"

"It's Hermione, isn't it?" Her voice turned into a snarl. "It's that little Mudblood _tramp_, isn't it?"

Harry felt the blood rush to his face. He was already used to Ginny's pureblood prejudice – her supposed commitment to equal rights during the days of Dumbledore's Army had been nothing more than mere posturing, all in the hopes of capturing his attention – but the fact that she had brought up Hermione's name made him see red.

"It has _nothing_ to do with Hermione and all to do with _you_," he finally replied, struggling to keep his voice down for the children's sake. They already were getting an earful every other night; there was no need for them to hear any more.

"Of _course _it has to do with Hermione! I saw the way you looked at her back at Hogwarts – I _knew_ you still had feelings for her, and you still had the audacity to marry _me_ –"

"I did _not_ have any feelings for her when I married her and I _certainly_ don't now!" Harry shouted back, though he realized more and more what a blatant lie this was. Hermione never would have gone to a party at the Malfoys, no matter how rich or influential they were. Hermione never would have worn such a downright whorish dress to any kind of party. And Hermione would _never _have turned into the selfish, shrieking, harridan that now stood before him.

"Yes you do! Don't lie! You'd better get over it because she isn't yours anymore; she's Ron's, just like you're mine –"

_Ron_. At the sheer mention of his name, Harry felt his hand tense, ready to slap her. He resisted.

"Hermione is her own person – she can't be owned by anyone, just like I can't be owned by you."

"_Bullshit!_" Ginny's voice now reached earsplitting levels. "You've _always_ wanted what Ron had, you always had to be_ famous_, always the big _hero!_"

"That's not true and you know it!" Harry roared back. Whatever considerable hatred he felt towards Ginny was now targeted tenfold at that complete arse Ronald Weasley, who could never do a damn thing on his own even now as an Auror, who never, _never_ appreciated Hermione the way he did. And now, Hermione was putting up with his lies, his insecurity, his inability to even do something as simple as tie his own shoes without hurling insults at her, and the thought filled him with white-hot fury.

Ginny's voice came to him from a distance, dimly shouting about all the ridiculous ways he had demeaned Ron and the rest of her family, but he no longer cared. Harry could only focus on the smug smirking face of Ron on his wedding day, while Hermione stood beside him with a frozen grin on her face. He should have stood up there, should have shouted his objection like the hero of some romantic Muggle movie, and carried her out of the church and away from them all. But now, it was too late…

He couldn't hear Ginny's shrieking any longer, he could only feel his urge to reach out to whatever place that miserable waste of flesh Ron was, to strangle him, tear him apart…clear as day in his mind's eye, he could see Ron, feeling blow after blow on his wretched body as Harry sent curse after curse at him (there would be no ridiculous dealing of _Experillamus_), beating him to a bloody pulp.

"_Harry, you listen to me!_"

The slap fell hard against her check, sending her reeling back. She stopped her shrieking, rubbing her cheek in mute disbelief.

"Get out." Harry pointed towards the door. It was as if that slap had drained all the energy out of him, reducing his voice to a dull monotone.

"_What?_"

"Get out." He felt his energy and emotion returning to him. "I don't love you anymore and I don't want you anymore. Get out of my house."

Ginny sputtered. "You…you can't do this to me."

"I've already talked to my lawyer. The papers are drawn up and you can come to his office to sign them in the morning. In the meantime –" He drew out his wand and, with a few quick flicks, filled a suitcase with her clothes "– I want you to get out."

"I'll take the children," she hissed. "I'll sue for full custody of the children and I'll damn well make sure you never see them again."

Harry laughed bitterly. Of course she would use the children as a weapon against him. It wasn't like she saw them as actual beings. "I've already gone over that with the lawyer. We put together a little portfolio of your behavior as a mother, and I don't think any judge in their right mind would let you near the children once they've taken a look through."

"Why should you care about them? They're not even _yours_!" Ginny drew herself up, triumphant at finally playing the ace up her sleeve.

Harry paused. "I know. And I don't care. Now _get out_."

Ginny, unable to speak, stood there slack-jawed. Harry could see her mind working slowly, trying to find one last argument to throw at him, but at long last she had run out of words to say.

Finally, she went into the walk-in closet she had demanded Harry add to the room. A few minutes later she emerged, dressed sensibly for once.

She walked to the bed to take the suitcase, but couldn't resist one last attempt at melodrama. With a twist of her hand she took off her wedding ring (but not, he noticed, her gold engagement ring with the five-carat blue diamond) and threw it on the floor. She smirked at Harry, daring him to respond.

Wordlessly, he took off his own ring and dropped it on the floor beside hers.

As it finally sunk in that he no longer wanted her, the smirk on her face faded. Struggling to keep her pride, she grabbed the suitcase and her wand from the dresser, and walked out of the room. Harry listened as she stormed down the creaky stairs and, a moment later, the front door slammed.


	4. Love Song

(A/N PEOPLE! Thanks for the reviews so far, but I NEED MORE! So I'm holding my next chapter hostage until I recieve...25 MORE REVIEWS! MUAHAHA! *lighting crash*

So recc this to your friends, aquaintances, and strangers! Get me new readers NOW!

And thanks always to my lovely beta Raquelle!)

Harry asked no questions when Hermione arrived, half an hour later on his doorstep, her children in hand. In a sense, he felt like he had been expecting her – as if he had cleared Ginny out of the way to make room in the house for Hermione. He had been sitting with his own children in the family room, explaining why he and Mummy wouldn't be living with one another anymore, when Mary came in to announce "Mrs. Weasley".

For a second, Harry's stomach churned. Dealing with the daughter was bad enough; dealing with the mother would be absolute murder. But relief washed over him when he saw it was Hermione, along with Rose and Hugo, who entered the room. He felt his relief multiply further as he saw she was unaccompanied by that red-haired brute.

He stood up to greet her, and then paused as he saw her tear-stained face.

"Harry," she began, stammering. "Would…would you mind terribly if we were to stay for a few days? It's just…"

She did not need to say anymore. "Mary, please get the guest rooms made up, and take Mrs.…Weasley and the children to her room." Harry said. Mary nodded and went out

"Actually, Harry," Hermione said. "I was wondering if you and I could go somewhere…private…just to talk and catch up."

"Of course." He turned to his children. "Mrs. Weasley and I are going to go out for a short walk. Can the five of you behave yourselves and play together nicely while we're gone?"

Lily and Albus nodded, while James looked somewhat reluctant at the idea. Nevertheless, he lead the others down the hall to the playroom.

He turned back to Hermione. "Come on. I know a lovely little place we can go. Just the two of us."

The streets of London were deserted that night as Hermione and Harry silently walked side by side. Each one felt questions tumbling over and over again in their heads, but they could not imagine how to say them, or even if this was the time to say them. Better to wait until they reached their destination.

The Oyster Shell was a cheap diner, but it was the go-to joint when you needed your artery-clogging fix. Mercifully, the place was deserted – deserted, save for two women seated in the far corner booth loudly debating on whether or not Michelangelo was gay, autistic, both, or neither. A sad-looking, mustachioed waiter with a nametag reading _Alfred_ led them to their seats and took their orders, before leaving the two alone.

For a while, neither of them could talk, instead looking out on the river covered in fog made yellow by the dirty street lamps, and listening to both the women's increasingly heated discussion and the tinny eighties-era jukebox as it played "_Holding Out._"

Finally, Hermione spoke. "So how's Ginny?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know. As of forty minutes ago, she's no longer my problem."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I told her to get out."

Hermione caught her breath. It took a moment before she could speak again. "Really?"

"Really really. I don't know what possessed me to marry her in the first place. Maybe I felt sorry for her, maybe it was just some momentary lust." He smiled. "But at least I got the kids. That's the one good thing that came out of this mess." He shook his head. "But look at me! I'm being so selfish right now. I ought to be talking about you, asking questions about you. How are you? How is –" He gulped. "– Ron?"

Hermione took a deep breath. Now was the moment. "He's dead."

"Dead?" Harry mentally scolded himself for being cheered at the thought.

"Yes. I…I killed him."

Harry started. "Killed?"

"Yes." She began to sob. "Yes. Harry, I _had_ to."

And for the next few minutes, alternating between sobs and tears, she unfurled her whole story to Harry: The time the abuse started, the times she had tried to walk out, the times he had reeled her back with threats of death and divorce custody, and finally the time he had snapped the bird's neck, causing something to snap inside her and to send him to a horrific fate.

"And now…now I don't know what to do or where to go, so I came to you, because it seemed like you were the only one I could trust, oh Harry, please, please don't be angry at me –"

Harry moved from the seat across from Hermione to sitting next to her, gently wrapping his arms around her shoulders as he cradled her and rocked her back and forth. For a few moments, the two sat there, entwined, enjoying the smell, the touch, the sheer sensation of each others' bodies.

Hermione's sobs finally quieted, and she snuggled deeper into Harry. For a moment, Harry wondered if she could feel his heart beat quickening as she lay her head on his chest. He noticed the frizz had grown out of her hair, leaving it in soft, shiny brown ringlets, while her figure had not been hurt by the birth of her two children. Even now, with her in his arms, he recalled the way they had slept chastely together during their search of the Horcruxes, locked together like two swimmers fighting the rising maelstrom.

Harry heard a polite cough. The waiter was standing there, carrying their orders.

Harry waved him off. "Just put those down here."

The waiter set the plates down and hurried off to the counter, where he started to wash spoons and coffee mugs vigorously. By now, Hermione had settled down enough to take a sip of the tea she ordered. Harry took his chance to speak.

"I just want you to know Hermione, no matter what – my doors are always open to you. You have always been my dearest friend, you've seen me through everything, and I would be the most ungrateful person in the world if I didn't extend that same courtesy to you."

Hermione wiped away her last few tears. Harry felt a sudden urge to take her lovely face in his hands; to kiss away the tears that monster had caused to fall on it.

"You'd be alright with taking in a criminal – with housing a murderer?"

"To call you a murderer would be to say that _thing _you killed was human, and from what you've told me he clearly was anything but. You were acting not only in self-defense, but in the defense of your children. If this were a just world, no court would convict you."

Hermione let out a snort. "Somehow, I doubt the Wizarding World is enlightened enough to understand the feelings of an abused wife. My God, do you think I would have stayed married to him if divorce hadn't meant I would lose my children?"

Harry paused. She was right, as usual. The longer Harry lived in the Wizarding World, the more Harry wished he had never received that strange parchment letter in the mail one summer morning so many years ago. The way it denied the sacred healing acts of witchcraft in favor of the violent virility of wizardry, the way it covered women in hideous robes to conceal their natural beauty. He had fought for this world in the name of progress and equality, only to find it thrown back in his face.

Hermione took a few bites of the buttered toast she had ordered with her tea. "Now, I'm just worried about what happens next. I can't stay with you forever…"

_Even though I want you to_, Harry thought to himself.

"…And I'm worried about what will happen to the children."

"The Chateau de Noir." Harry said abruptly.

"What?"

"The Chateau de Noir. It's the Black family home in France, where the Blacks went to get away from the world. I found out about it after digging through some old family records, but apparently Dumbledore didn't tell me about it after Sirius died."

"Yes well, that's hardly new, isn't it? There were a lot of things that Dumbledore didn't feel like telling us. Things that would have made a huge bloody difference."

"True," Harry replied. In the years since Dumbledore's death his affection for the man had cooled considerably. "Nevertheless, the Chateau de Noir would be perfect for us. It would get us out of the country – "

"Us?"

"Yes." His voice softened. "_Us._ I'm coming with you." He took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Hermione, the truth is…I love you. I don't know how it started or how it began, but somehow I realized I always loved you. I know this might not be the right time or the right place but I don't care. I just want to take you and the kids away, away from the grime and muck in this world and start afresh. We can live at the Chateau, we can get married right in the Grand Hall, we can send the kids to Beauxbatons…we can live happily ever after, if you would just give me your hand."

Hermione, for a moment, was overcome. It the past few hours her emotions had done a complete one-eighty, spiraling up from the darkest despair to the ultimate happiness. She finally choked down the lump in her throat to take his hands and say:

"Yes. Yes Harry, oh _Harry_ –"

And there they kissed, and somehow the world melted away around them, along with the blind stumblings and wretchedness of the past years, and they were young and new and fresh and in love. When they finally broke apart, they became aware that the diner was now empty. The radio now blared Erasure's "_Always._"

Hermione giggled. "You know, I always loved this song. I know it's ridiculously cheesy and eighties, but it always made me so happy."

Without another word, Harry stood up and took her hand.

"Would the future Mrs. Potter care to dance with me?"

Hermione smiled and stood. "The future Mrs. Potter would be honored."

Wrapping his other arm around her waist, Harry pulled Hermione close, as she placed her head on his chest. Together, the two whirled around the restaurant as the jukebox blared on:

_Always I want to be with you,_

_And make believe with you,_

_And live in harmony, harmony, oh love_.


	5. River Games

(A/N Hey guys! In response to my last note, I'd like to apologize for asking for reviews - it WAS pretty rude of me and I'm very, very, sorry *pouts* thanks for being loyal and getting me reviews anyway!

This chapter is a little different and longer than the last - I just thought we need some relief before the gathering storm *wicked grin*

As for the canon whores who just decided to show up...*yawn* Perhaps you should follow the advice of your Patron Goddess and "go back and reread" because you'll find I'm writing the redheads quite in character

Once again, thank you Raquelle for your magnificent beta'ing!)

Harry kissed her again and again as they wandered back from the streets, hand in hand – every time he looked at her he caught the way her eyes shone in the darkness, or the way the lamplight glinted off her hair, Harry knew he just had to have her. She, too, would surprise him with her kisses, which pressed against his cheek, his hair, and his lips like the softest of rose petals.

When they finally arrived home, they took a moment from their amorous intentions to check on the children. First, they went to see Harry's children – for no matter what that Weasley bitch said, they would always be his children – and saw they were all tucked in, the moonlight shining across their faces and bathing them in a celestial glow. A quick look into the guest bedroom left Hermione nearly in tears; to see Rose and Hugo curled up in their twin beds, smiling gently, the age brought on by years of torment and abuse dropped from their faces…it brought on a swell of unimaginable relief within her breast, and she fell against Harry for support.

He picked her up and carried her into the master bedroom as a bridegroom would his new bride. And indeed, it was a marriage of sorts. Perhaps not a marriage of legality, where mere words on a piece of paper and a mere shower of sparks would bond one to another, but a marriage of spirit, where that most holy and sacred of acts, performed in love, would meld two kindred souls together into an unbreakable force.

The bedroom itself was sumptuous. Decorated in dark, Gryffindor colors, the bed was made of mahogany, burnished like a throne. Rich red velvet curtains hung from its four posts, while above the charmed engravings of lions and dolphins cavorted across the intricately carved ceiling. Harry noticed that Mary must have sensed what would occur between the two, for she had brought all of Hermione's things to his bedroom.

Harry placed her gently, tenderly on the bed after leaving one last kiss on her lips. "Hermione," he said softly, gazing lovingly into her chocolate brown eyes. "I know this will sound tremendously old fashioned, but would you prefer it if we waited a bit before…before going through with _this?_"

"Why?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"I…I don't feel ready for it just yet. I've been through so much today, and so have you, and I want to take this one step at a time. We can sleep here together tonight, side by side, but as for _that_…I simply want to wait."

Hermione, in a voice full of newfound understanding, replied, "Of _course_ we can wait, darling. It's almost like losing your virginity again, isn't it? You know it's so important, that you don't want just to share it with the person you love you want everything to be right – the moment, the mood, _everything_."

Harry grinned. Somehow, Hermione always managed to understand what he wanted to say. He knew, there and then, that she was the only one for him, that all else had been hopeless fumbling and blustering towards the light that now shone before him.

He kissed her one last time, deep and long. "Now if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Potter, I must get ready for bed."

When he returned from his walk-in closet in his silk pajamas, Hermione had already wrapped herself in a soft nightgown that clung to her curves in a way Harry longed to mimic. But he was nothing if not a gentleman, and that would have to wait.

She climbed gracefully into the bed; her hair spread like a burnt sienna storm across the pillow, and she turned to him, smiling. As he got into bed beside her she snuggled close, wrapping her arm around the firmness of his chest and kissing him gently on his neck.

"Until tomorrow, Mr. Potter."

"Until tomorrow, Mrs. Potter."

The next morning, Hermione awoke to the smell of freshly-made French toast and delicious hot coffee. As she went down the stairs and into the dining room, she found Harry sitting at the head of the dining room table, grinning.

"Mary's getting the children ready to go. I already explained the situation to them, and I think they've taken it quite well."

Children's feet came running down the stairs as Lily, followed by Rose, rushed in.

Lily immediately ran into Hermione, clutching at the skirt of her nightgown, wide eyes looking up in astonishment. "Is it true you're going to be our mummy now?"

Hermione looked down at her, and felt her eyes mist over in tenderness. "Yes, sweetheart, I will. And I hope I'll be the best mummy I can be."

Lily buried her face in her skirt. "I'm glad! I didn't like my _old_ mummy. She was _mean_ and she didn't like us one _bit_. She always said we were getting in her way, and we got her fat."

Hermione tried and failed to stifle a laugh. Rose now came up to her.

"Is Mr. Potter going to be our daddy now? Are we going away forever and ever?"

Hermione, now choked with emotion, could only nod yes.

Rose raised her hands to her mouth in two tiny fists, unable to speak for excitement.

Harry broke in. "Rose, why don't you and Lily go get your brothers down here so that we can have breakfast?"

Rose and Lily rushed back upstairs while Harry continued. "I sent an owl to Gringotts this morning and just got word back from them – they'll have the Black and Potter fortunes moved to their Paris branch by the end of the day. I've already made arrangements for a boat to take us to the Chateau de Noir, and they'll have a ride ready to take all of our things there. Mary should be getting the children's things packed right now, and I'll have my own clothes packed in a jiffy." He reached tenderly towards her. "My only concern right now is you. Forgive me for intruding on your privacy, dearest, but I had a look at the rags in your bag and, well, I can't imagine you walking around in those…_things_. I'd give you some of Ginny's clothes, but I'm afraid she took them all."

Hermione shook her head. "Even if you had them, I'd never take them. I couldn't imagine walking around in _her_ kind of clothes. I'll just wait until we get to France and I'll buy some new things."

Harry was about to speak again, but he was interrupted by the children, followed by Mary, scrambling into the room, ready for breakfast.

Throughout the meal of French toast, bacon, scrambled eggs and scones, Rose and Lily couldn't stop talking. Was it true they were going on a trip? Was it true they were going to live in a castle? Was it true they were going to a new school that was even better than Hogwarts? Harry and Hermione tried to keep up with their interrogation, but every answer they gave just prompted twenty more questions.

"It's just like a fairy tale!" Lily bubbled happily. "Where the prince comes to rescue the princess and everyone in the kingdom rejoices and they all live happily ever after!"

Hermione smiled, her eyes getting misty again, and tightly grasped Harry's hand under the table. _Yes_, she thought to herself. _It really is like a fairy tale, and it will all end happily ever after_.

By the time they had finished packing, the Wizarding taxi had arrived to take them all to the wharf. When they arrived, Hermione and the children gasped – waiting to take them to France was a beautiful, forty-meter yacht.

Harry grinned. "Beautiful, isn't it? We're just renting it for the trip, but I could buy it if you want. I'm sure it would make a lovely vessel for cruising up and down the Loire."

"Oh, could we? _Could we?_" Rose blurted out before Hermione could shush her.

Harry laughed. "All right, love. But let's take it on a test run before we buy it."

By the time Harry finished his sentence, the children had already run inside. Laughing, Harry and Hermione followed them.

The interior was just as wonderful as Hermione imagined it – soft white carpeting, golden teakwood paneling and furniture, and wide windows on either side looking out into the blue waters of the Atlantic.

The captain was waiting for them, sitting on a lounge chair with a drink in his hand. "Morning," he said, toasting the two. "No worries – this drink is _completely_ non-alcoholic." To Hermione, the captain looked like he'd simply stepped out of an ad for a cruise line: tall, lean, hair weathered to a fine shade of silver, and a chiseled face from which two bright blue eyes twinkled.

He stood up to shake their hands. "I'm Captain Peppard. Second Mate Copley's in the bridge at the wheel now and, ah, here's First and Third Mates Cooper and Jackson, now."

Harry and Hermione turned to the spiral staircase in the corner that the children had just run up, to see two more men emerging from the lower floors of the ship. The first could have been Peppard's son – a handsome tanned face with sparkling blue eyes and tousled dark brown hair, connected to a fit young body. The other was black and compact, with muscles visible under his vest and black turtleneck, and he wore a knitted blue hat despite being indoors.

"First Mate Cooper, at your service," the first man said with a grin. "And of course, this is Third Mate Jackson." He motioned to the other.

As they all shook their hands, Harry couldn't help but ask, "Where is the rest of the crew?"

Captain Peppard let out a chuckle as he took a cigar out of his pocket. "Us four are all the crew you need, Mr. Potter. My team is the best of the best." He lit the cigar.

Hermione was about to ask what sort of experience qualified the four of them to run a boat this huge, but she felt the boat start. The boat was of course enchanted with an Anti-Inertia charm, but she was still shocked by the view of the dock through the window suddenly disappearing to be replaced by a blur of sea and sky.

"Goodness! Isn't your pilot going awful fast?"

Jackson let out a snort. "You should've been here when he was bringing the boat around. This is driving in _neutral_ for him."

Cooper rolled his eyes. "Jackson isn't exactly a fan of Copley's driving skills. Don't worry, he knows what he doing, he just doesn't show it some of the time."

"More like _all_ of the time," Jackson retorted.

Cooper looked ready to give a rebuttal, but then shrugged in defeat. "True enough. C'mon, we better go downstairs to make sure he doesn't blow the engine out."

The two headed back down the steps, leaving Hermione to sink down on the couch in exhaustion. Harry and the captain likewise took seats in the chairs opposite her.

"So, if you don't mind," Peppard said, vanishing his cigar's ash from the carpet with a flick of his wand. "Would you care to tell me your story?"

"I'd…rather not," Harry said, after a pause. "Let us just say we're fugitives from laws masquerading as justice."

"Boy, do I know _that_ feeling." Peppard grinned. "You have my sympathies."

Suddenly, a booming voice came over the intercom. "_GOOOOOOOOOD afternoon passengers! This is your pilot speaking, telling you we are coming into the mouth of the Lou-Are faster than a – "_

Peppard yanked a hand mirror out of his pocket in a flash. "Copley!" he yelled into it, "You better think _very carefully_ about what you're going to say next!"

"– _horse into an open barn, that's all I was sayin' boss,"_ Copley replied over the intercom, voice full of innocence.

Peppard let out a sarcastic chuckle. "If you say so."

"I must say, you and your men are certainly…_interesting_." Hermione said, finally able to speak after the oddness of it all.

"Well, like I said, we're an odd bunch, but–"

He was cut off by a sudden jerk of the boat to the left, sending him and his chair flying into Harry's, knocking both of them to the floor. Hermione was luckier; she'd simply slid to the end of the couch, hitting the arm of the couch.

Over the intercom, she could hear Copley's voice as well as to her dawning horror, the voices of the children cheering, "Do it again! Do it again!"

"_Passengers,_" Copley began, _"We are experiencing difficulty with the Anti-Inertia charm. However, please feel free to move about the cabin, and enjoy this tour of the Lou-Are River."_

The boat speed forward, sending the three (and the rest of the furniture in the room) rocketing to the back. "_Now as you can see,_" Copley continued, infuriatingly cheerful, _"This river runs past Nantes and Angers_ – "

As Hermione fumbled to find her wand to perform the counter-spell, the boat shot into the air, and she slid off the couch. Through the mirror, she saw water rapidly receding from the boat's bottom as it flew over a bridge. For one moment the furniture and the three of them floated in the air as the boat fell to the water, only to come crashing back to the ground once the boat hit river.

"– _from a swerve around Tours –_"

The boat suddenly tilted to the side, sending people and furniture piled on the left window in a heap. Hermione, her face smushed against the glass, was looking deep into the water as Copley now pulled a sharp right turn.

"– _to a bend at Orleans –"_

The boat had finally come down from its tilt – only to rear up, performing what Hermione could only imagine was a nautical wheelie. Below, she could hear Jackson bellowing,_ "YOU TRYIN' TO KILL ME AGAIN, FOOL?"_

"– _which brings us by Chassy via Vauvise_ –"

While still in the wheelie the left side to hit something, sending the boat into the air spiraling. Captain Peppard, Harry, and Hermione (the former cursing like a sailor, the latter trying not to throw up), along with the rest of the furniture, tumbled around the middle of the boat as Copley did barrel roll after barrel roll.

"– _of Region Cen-tre! Here we are! Cha-toe de Noor! Entering the har-"_

The boat pulled out of its sixteenth or seventeenth barrel roll (Hermione had lost count) to land with one last crash in the river.

" – _bor!_"

The boat sedately pulled up to the stone pier leading to the castle. Harry, Hermione, and the Captain all lay in a jumble in the center of the room, furniture scattered around them. Hermione, wand finally in her hand, managed to perform a Nausea Banishment spell on herself and Harry before they both rose to their feet. The Captain, picking himself from the wreckage, did not seem to need one. Indeed, standing there dusting off his uniform, he treated the whole ride as nothing more than a slight bump on a riverbank.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he said mildly, lighting another cigar. "If you want to, though, the bridge is just up those stairs." He nodded to a second set of stairs near the front of the ship. "You can have a word with our pilot there."

"Oh, I certainly _will_," Hermione said, her temper flaring. In a few steps she had covered the distance between her and the steps, rushing up them with Harry close behind.

The bridge was a circular room, with windows completely surrounding it. The children were wandering around in the center, giggling from their dizziness. The pilot himself sat at the front over panel after panel of buttons, still laughing. He was brown-haired and tan like Cooper, but shorter, with a longer nose and hair that stuck out at odd angles from underneath his sailor hat. In fact, Hermione realized, he was wearing a complete old-fashioned dark blue sailor suit, with white ascot and trimmings.

He gave her a cheeky smile. "Enjoy your trip, ma'am?"

"_Enjoy?_" Hermione fumed. "Did you think I'd _enjoy_ being tossed around like a rag doll?"

"Don't blame me," he interrupted, blue eyes widening to give a Bambi-like expression. "Was the kids that wanted it. And if you pardon my language, ma'am, this whole _'Anti-Inertia'_ stuff's for pussies. When I'm drivin' a boat, I wanna _feel_ like I'm drivin' a boat, not playin' some dumbass video game."

Hermione was about to retort with a few choice words when Harry gently took her arm. "Come on, 'Mione. We're at our new home, let's just get out and get settled."

Hermione let out her breath. He was right, it wasn't worth it. She turned to the children.

"Let's go, kids. It's time to move in to our new home."

In a flash, the kids had bolted down the stairs, and she could hear them running to the door of the ship. She and Harry followed them downward and out, where Peppard waited on to send them off. Behind him, she could see Jackson and Cooper handing their luggage off to a small group of house-elves who had descended from the castle, Jackson tinged a shade of green that almost perfectly matched the house-elves' skin.

"Thank you for riding with us, sir," Peppard said, shaking Harry and Hermione's hands one more time. "I hope we'll see each other again."

_And I will make very sure that we won't,_ Hermione thought bitterly as she took her hand away from his. When Harry and she turned to look up at the imposing castle before them, Peppard spoke one last time.

"If you ever need any help – I'm sure you can find us."

_I don't know if I'd want your kind of help,_ Hermione thought, walking up the stairs with Harry to her new home and her new life. _But I know I'll definitely need some kind._


End file.
